


Making Bank

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Ripe Fruit [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Exhibitionism, M/M, Stripping, Watermelons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Lost Bet.' Dean and Sam are stripping for cash, but the girls who hired them have an . . . unusual request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Bank

“I mean, it’s nothing you haven’t done before.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean grits.   


“C’mon. I mean, we’ve done a lot worse for money before, right? We’re essentially being paid for getting off,” Sam reasons, far too calm for Dean’s liking. 

“At least ‘worse’ left me with some dignity, man. This is just fucking weird.”   


And maybe that was true, but too many hunts and not enough downtime had left the more strapped for cash and cards than normal. It’d be at least another week before fresh cards would be in their closest maildrop, and they’d need both food and gas long before that. 

Stripping wasn’t a new gig for them, and they’d certainly done work together before but this was different. The women at the party they’d been sent to were already more than buzzed by the time they got there, and the hostess’ newest request was creative, to say the least. Not to mention against the rules, but hey, it’s not like they’d be sticking around to get fired anyway. 

Sam’s apparently done waiting for Dean to suck it up and decide, because he’s stepping forward and dragging the older man into a kiss. Long fingers slide down Dean’s side, tucking themselves just under the top hem of his tight boxer briefs, and a round of cheering erupts from the women behind them. 

“I hate you,” Dean breathes as they break apart. “Sammy… “   


“Shh, Dean. Just follow my lead, hm?” Sam slides his hand further into Dean’s boxers, the other sliding down to join it as they cup his ass and push the fabric down simultaneously. Dean moans a little as his brother kneads his ass, fingers digging in and skirting perilously close to his hole. It isn’t long before his boxers are dropping to the floor, and somehow Sam’s follow suit.   


Waiting on a towel on the floor is the object that started the entire debate. An extra two hundred on top of what they’d already be getting paid, if they’d put their dicks in a watermelon. Jesus. Christ. 

“This is some bad porno shit man,” Dean mutters as his brother guides him down to his knees, but he ends up swallowing a moan as Sam forces him to push in , the room temperature fruit tight around his cock. A biting kiss to his shoulder, and Sam moves to take his place on the other side, guiding himself in with an odd look on his face. Then he’s grabbing Dean’s hands, tangling them up so they’re gripping the fruit together as he starts to thrust.

It takes some teasing nipping at Dean’s lip, Sam pulling back every time Dean leans forward, but it coaxes him into rocking his hips until he’s set up a pace enough to satisfy his brother. Only then does Sam lean in to catch Dean’s mouth, kissing him deep and moaning into the press of lips. The sound makes Dean’s cock jerk, and he gives an extra hard thrust, enough to rock the watermelon down onto Sam’s cock. 

That’s where it heats up, the both of them rutting hard and fast as they pant and moan like pornstars into each other’s mouths. Dean’s pelvis is going to be sore tomorrow, he’s sure, along with his pride, but that doesn’t matter know when he’s inching closer to coming, or when Sam’s practically growling into his mouth. 

“Ah,  _fuck,_ ” Sam groans low, shoving in hard and deep, face dropping down to the cradle of Dean’s neck as he comes, panting hot breaths again’s Dean’s skin.   


Dean sinks his teeth into Sam’s shoulder, grunting as his hips stutter, then wrenching his mouth free as a harsh cry tears from his throat when his gut twists in sharp pleasure. 

It’s weirdly silent in the room, and Dean is loath to open his tightly shut eyes to find out what’s going on why. He’s sticky in more ways than one, sweat trickling down his neck and his equally sweaty brother plastered against his shoulder. 

“Holy fuck, Christy,” one of the girls says, breaking the quiet and the room erupts into drunken cheers and clapping. 

The hostess gets them towels and the cash, beet red and not quite able to meet Dean’s eye as she sees them to the door. Dean can already feel the bruise forming between his hips, but its overridden by the lazy haze of a good orgasm.  

“So that was fun,” Sam says casually as he slumps back against the Impala seat.   


“Fuck you, Sammy.” 

Sam laughs loud and bright, and Dean’s lip can’t help but quirk a little at the sound. Still, there’s payback in his little brother’s future, and Dean starts to plot even as they look for a motel to crash for the night. 


End file.
